Daily Archives : Page 70 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

Smoky Mountain Puddings!

At approximately 8:30 in the morning on Friday, July 13th, I ended a 42 year run of being able to say, “No! I’ve never been stung by a hornet!” I was outside watering my tomatoes and roses and when I went to return the hose to its rightful place, I felt something on my left hand. When I looked down, THERE WAS A HORNET SITTING THERE LOOKING AT ME IN ALL CAPS!!! I did what anyone who is not experienced with venomous insects would do. I freaked out, the bee inserted his/her stinger halfway between my thumb and wrist, and I screamed. (I can’t remember the last time I screamed. Wait. Yes I do. It was four years ago when this happened in the parking lot at Starbucks.) I’ve been through an appendectomy, two c-sections, oral surgery during which six teeth were removed, a tattoo, a nose piercing, and several car accidents and break-ups. Nothing compares to The Sting of The Hornet. Let’s shorten the story. I took a bunch of pills, and I iced the sting all day. Every time the ice bag would melt, the pain returned.

At 7:30 on Friday night, I went to the urgent care shoebox hospital place, where the doctor: 1. Yelled at me for waiting so long to come in. 2. Was all concerned about the black spots around the sting until I laughed and said, “Oh! Those are Oreo crumbs!” and brushed them away. 3. Prescribed a steroid, an antihistamine, Naproxen, and VICODIN. (I threw away the Vicodin prescription, because I’m afraid I might like Vicodin a little too much.) On Friday night, I slept with a huge ice pack on my hand. By Saturday morning, the pain was gone.

SO, we packed up the car and drove to the mountains.

This is the view from our cabin. The week is going to be perfect for many reasons, including the fact that we found someone to watch our house and our dogs. All is well here, and all is well back home. This means I can eat my cereal (with almond milk!) on the front porch with a ripped-up Vicodin prescription and absolutely no need for Xanax.

This morning I woke up at 4:45 and heard something walking around on our porch. I looked out the window, but I didn’t see anything. I read in bed for a bit (Catching Fire!), and about every 15 minutes or so, I heard the noise. When Jeff got up at 7:00, he found a dead and mangled mouse right outside our front door. I know this is probably the work of a cat or a raccoon (or hopefully, a sweet baby bear!), but my mind wants to believe that we’re going to have our own Boo Radley during our stay in the mountains. Please keep your fingers crossed that tomorrow will find us holding some fresh hand-carved wooden dolls at 7:00 in the morning. (I’ve pinned a note to the rocking chair that says, “We prefer craftiness to carnage.” Here’s hoping Boo is able to read and respect.)

Because Kris Allen told me to live like we’re dying, this morning I went to a spinnery, spun some wool on a Sidekick, and purchased eight ounces of merino/tussah.

It’s going to be a good week. I hope yours is the same. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Just a few things you might want to know:

If I’m singing a song about clipper burn, don’t start tossing in lines about anal gland expression.

Don’t ever ask me if I want that bagel for free. Of course I want that bagel for free. Free bagel!

If my nose is infected again, I’m not just going to tell you that it’s infected. I’m going to take a photo of it, and then I’m going to edit the crap out of that photo until it looks like it was taken in 1976, and all of a sudden you can’t tell that my nose is infected. It just looks like I’m tossing up a photo of myself taken during the year I turned six years old. Really. Look! Amateur photo editing can be a ridiculous waste of time, especially when I’m the amateur. (There’s a morning sun in the kitchen, and there’s always a bird when you listen.)

My hair is growing out. I have a strategy! AND, although I’m getting dangerously close to the intersection of Emo Philips and Andy Warhol in the Venn Diagram of Hair Growth, please know that when December comes, everything is going to be all worked out on the outside of my head, which will free me up to tackle the inside!

We cannot have Doritos in the house. Especially if I find out that they’re vegan. Because, to me, vegan equals healthy, regardless of the ingredients.

For the past few evenings, I’ve been taking these:

And combining them to make this:

Clipper burn! Not anal sac!! Clipper burn!!!

(I used to sit on my bedroom floor and listen to this album for hours. I always loved the captain.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Iron Maiden is on my running mix. And you think I’m kidding.

Although I’m a bit disappointed in myself for turning Fluid Pudding into a weekly thing, I believe it’s fair to blame my silence on the uneventful summer. The writing on yesterday’s calendar space says “library, store, piano, knives.” Today is “coffee/knitting, root beer.” Tomorrow? “Henry Express Groom! FroYo?” (Actually, that one is pretty exciting. Because Henry has anxiety issues and this is his first grooming, I paid eleven dollars extra to have three groomers work on him at the same time. This means he will not be put in a crate at any time during his grooming, and we’ll hopefully have him back home less than three hours after his appointment begins.)

I’m failing the summer reading program at the library, and I don’t really mind, because I’m splitting my time between knitting a sweater, spinning, freelancing, and reading. I did finish Juliet, Naked last week, and this week I started both Pride and Prejudice and Catching Fire. I’ve already read more this summer than I’ve read in several months, so I refuse to beat myself up over the fact that my reading card will not be entered into any drawings to win free roast beef sandwiches or a tote bag covered in embroidered quotes. (Meredith and Harper have already finished the summer reading program, and have filled out several “extra” sheets for raffles. Last week Meredith won a pair of tickets to a St. Louis Blues Hockey game in October. She has already packed four books into her vacation suitcase. In it to win it.)

How is the running going, I’m pretending you asked? Yesterday morning I completed Week Five, Day One of the Ease into 5K program, and it nearly killed me. Run five minutes, walk two minutes, run four minutes, walk two minutes, run for five again! Walk for two! RUN FOR FOUR! I did the whole thing after spending the night tossing and turning and Mr. Darcy-ing and Katniss-ing. Tomorrow I will try W5D1 again, as I refuse to move on until I’ve completed the workout without feeling venom bubbling up in my legs. I was a galloping hate cow yesterday morning, and that will not do. The scary thing? (For me. Not you. Unless you scare easily.) In five short weeks, I’ll be running my very first 5K with my sister. And it’s not just any 5K. Because I need to be kneedeep in the hoopla, we’ve signed on for this:

Confession: I cannot watch that video without crying. (I now have medication.) I’ve warned my sister that I might drop to my knees and sob as soon as I cross the finish line. I may go all tribal and start beating on my chest and howling. I may simply walk up to someone and punch them in the jaw with my colorful fist or French kiss them with my multi-colored tongue. There’s a good chance that I’ll rip off my clothes and streak with the hope that people will continue to throw powdered color at me. (I’ll then roll naked across a white sheet and auction it off to anyone who might be interested in a powdered state-of-nature painting.)

I’ll start the bidding at $4. In the meantime, I really need to stomp out the remaining four weeks of training. Let me know if you need anything. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tell me what you know about nutty buddies.

The day is only half over, and the following things have happened:

1. I was trapped in my garage when a stranger’s truck broke down in my driveway.
2. I met a friend for coffee and knitting.
3. We got a pool for the puppies!
4. Harper said, “I think the middle finger is the longest because it’s the most helpful.” Darwinism!
5. The dead man in our front yard was not so dead after all! Good news! (Believe me, with our house history, the odds are against us having a dead person in the front yard. Talk to my neighbor. (The cranky one.) She’ll tell you why.)

Next up? I’m going to do a few decreases on my sweater sleeve, I’m meeting a friend for a dinner that will include fig marmalade, and I’ll be returning to a house full of fresh fruits and vegetables from the co-op. (Today is making up for yesterday. We lost power for about four and a half hours yesterday, and although it wasn’t terrible, it DID prevent me from making zucchini bread. Also, the outside temperature was 100 degrees, which is 37.7 degrees Celsius. I didn’t smile very much yesterday.)

Bonus: I just ate a salad full of dried cranberries and walnuts, and I’m currently enjoying a bowl of grapes while the girls snack on Bomb Pops! Bomb Pops!

I would like this shirt.

Also, this shirt.

Happy 3rd of July. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

My hair is still growing, and I have a strategy!

I’m sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and waiting for a guy to show up to talk to me about a thing.

After he leaves, the girls and I will be taking Scout and Henry to meet a new friend who just might watch them the next time we leave town. (After the bad boarding experience we had in the spring, I have become the jerk who refuses to leave town ever again unless I’m absolutely sure the dogs will be treated with respect. This afternoon I will decide if my suitcase comes upstairs or stays in the basement.)

When we return to the house, another guy is going to show up to take some money and talk a little more about another thing.

I don’t have much to report, because most of the past week has been spent stomping around in the mundanities. I bought what I think is a cute dress for an October wedding, and it’s too small. I need to lose two inches from around my rib cage for the zipper to zip. I have three months to make this happen, so I’m not terribly stressed out. I’m still doing the running thing, but I’m reluctant to sing about that too much. Just know that week four begins tomorrow morning at six, and I’m not feeling very confident. (Week Four suggests that I run four minutes, walk two minutes, run six minutes, walk three minutes, and then run four minutes again. Yesterday morning I reached the point where I could run three minutes without feeling like my heart was going to explode. The “run six minutes” thing will be tomorrow’s Eleanor Roosevelt “Do one thing every day that scares you” event.)

Tomorrow evening I’ll be eating fancy food and then watching a movie about a stripper. Eleanor Roosevelt!

This is what I did last night:

I don’t spin nearly as much as I should. When I’m downstairs spinning, I achieve a pretty amazing level of relaxation. My shoulders drop down from their normal location (they spend most of the day reaching for my ears), I lose track of time, and suddenly I have a bobbin filling up with yarn. I’m fully convinced that everyone needs something like this.

This evening I’ll be preparing a silk/merino blend for the Tour de Fleece. (It runs parallel with the Tour de France. Everyone spins their wheels. I’m not an official participant, but I do need to start spinning more regularly.)

I’ve been baking zucchini bread and reading Nick Hornby and listening to Fiona Apple and putting the first sleeve on my Acer. I’ve been thinking about taking a writing class or joining a writing group or just simply writing. You can’t be a baker unless you bake. You can’t be a runner unless you run. And so forth. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Koalas will not do.

It has been exactly one week since I’ve had coffee in the morning. Part of me wants to say something about getting control of my life and wanting to be the boss of caffeine rather than allowing it to be MY boss. Part of me wants to sing empowering folk songs about deciding to do something and then just DOING it instead of dancing around and whining and making lame/tired jokes about how I NEED coffee. (Those ridiculous cartoons of women sitting around in robes with screwed up hair and tired swollen eyes mumbling something about coffee IVs and calling themselves Mommy even though there are no kids in the room? I can’t even think about it without wanting to punch the wall.)

The truth is, I bought a gigantic container of coffee creamer eight days ago, and it’s horrible. I feel guilty about throwing it out, yet I refuse to use it. (I know what you’re thinking. “Toss it out and go buy your normal brand of coffee creamer!” Nope. Tossing it out right now feels so wasteful. Instead, I’m going to wait until it expires on September 4th. (Expiration dates give me that feeling of perceived permission to pour things down the drain.) Please don’t try to heal me. (I’m still saving all of my positive pregnancy tests (dated with Sharpies!) as well as my kids’ belly button stumps.) I am beautiful in every single way. Words can’t bring me down.)

Anyway, I no longer drink black coffee (it’s ACID to my MUCOSA!!!), so I feel like I have no options. It’s just that easy.

(My plan for going full-on vegan is to fill my refrigerator with rancid butter, moldy cheese, and blood-soaked eggs. That should do it.)

Jeff is out of town again. (I wish you could hear the tone I’m assigning to the word Again.) The girls and I will be going on a drive-thru doughnut run sometime today. We will then split up so they can play/read/practice the piano while I stomp out some freelance. Later this afternoon, we’ll be making vegan cherry almond cookies. (Please know that although it’s not credited, the recipe is from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar by Moskowitz/Romero.)

A few moments ago, Meredith proved that she is my biological child.

Meredith: There’s only one thing in life that I want to do today.

Me: Go on.

Meredith: I want to stock up on tiny containers of hand sanitizer, and I need at least two of them to have panda bears on the label.

(We’ll be heading out within the hour to do just that.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

One?! If even?!

Jeff was in North Carolina all week, so I did what I always do when he is out of town. I went pretend dress shopping at ModCloth. This is how it works: I put the kids to bed, I jump on the computer, and I spend (probably too much) time browsing the styles I like. I then put all of my favorites into a shopping cart to see how much it would cost to have everything. I then take every single dress OUT of the shopping cart and go to bed. No one gets hurt.

Ah, but Wednesday evening was a bit different. I had spent the better part of the afternoon working on a freelance project, so I decided to actually order a dress. I turned to Facebook, where several of my most fashionable friends hang out, and I presented them with three options: This, this, or this (which is NOT from ModCloth, but is still very cute). At the end of the evening, I went with the Craft Festival Dress. (It was the last one in stock. Victory!)

This afternoon, the girls and I found ourselves at a mall choosing a Father’s Day gift for Jeff. While there, I noticed that two teenaged boys were quietly (but not quietly enough) rating women as they walked by. My gut reaction was to quickly change directions and find a different route to our destination. (Believe me, I also considered confronting the boys, but deep down I knew it would have done more harm than good—especially since my voice shakes and it sounds like I’m about to cry whenever I confront anyone. “Stop judging women! I’m not crying about this despite my quivering tone!”) Because I’m a sucker for the whole “shortest distance between two points” thing, we soldiered on. The woman in front of me, who was probably in her mid 30’s, was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a shiny tank top. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail, and she was pushing a stroller. She scored a five. I decided that although I was wearing a brown cotton dress that sort of resembles a cleaning uniform, I could possibly outscore Ponytail Mom if I put a confident smile on my face and perhaps a bit of a bounce in my step. With the girls at my side (they had no idea what was going on, and I wasn’t about to tell them, because I DO know how disgusting it is), I did my runway walk.

Boy #1: One.

Boy #2: If even.

How deflating! I know I’m no Cindy Crawford mom, but a One?! And an If Even?! (I’m so self-conscious of my neck lately. I wonder if my neck had anything to do with my low score. Also, my posture is terrible if I’m not actively thinking about it!)

When I returned home from the mall, I received an e-mail from ModCloth. Apparently, there had been a mix-up with the dress I ordered and it ended up NOT being available after all. They refunded my money and offered a coupon that included free shipping toward the purchase of a new dress.

This was a sign from the universe. (I’m pretending that) I couldn’t care less about those boys and their shoddy rating system. However, perhaps at 42 I really SHOULD try a bit harder to _______ ______ _______. (Try a bit harder to what? I have no idea. I’ve been sitting here for three minutes trying to complete that sentence. Try a bit harder to showcase my inner Amelie? Try a bit harder to not give a crap? Hrm. So many directions.)

Anyway, I once again turned to Facebook. (Because that’s what I do.) This (which I really love, and I can see myself wearing all year round with a black cardigan and leggings—so Amelie-esque!) or this (which will force me to look like I give a crap!)? My friends had definite opinions about both dresses. (One person was brave enough to say that those who voted for the Dressing Room Dress are not my real friends.) Although I definitely wanted to walk away with both dresses, I eventually chose the winner and checked out. I will be bedecking myself with the victor in the next 7-10 business days and will probably need your shoe opinions at that time.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Puppies and Celine Dion rage! Also, DSM-IV 300.23 with a side of epistaxis!

I need writing prompts! I need to step away from Instagram and Facebook and hang out over here some more! Last week I tried to write every day, and it looks like I crapped out after Monday and Tuesday. Summer is so difficult for me, what with the eating like an idiot and entertaining the kids and reading books and freelancing and whatnot…

Last week we signed up to participate in this morning’s Whiskers and Tales event at the library. The local Love on a Leash chapter was there with eight adorable dogs, and each child got to choose a dog and read to that dog for twenty minutes. Meredith read during the first round, Harper read during the second round, and because so many kids cleared out after round two, Meredith and Harper stuck around to read again during rounds three and four.

This photo was taken during the second round. As Harper read to Lola, Meredith hugged, scratched, and petted Lola. (We loved Lola.)

Speaking of Harper, she is now wearing glasses.

She has always been jealous of Meredith’s glasses, and she often tries on my glasses and wears them around the house. Sadly, her vision is perfect, and she has no need for a prescription. Ah, but last week she had ten dollars and we found ourselves strolling around a store that sold plastic lenses for nine dollars, and finally! (She has received many compliments on her glasses. She is quite pleased with her purchase.)

This morning I spent nearly twenty minutes watching Celine Dion videos. A friend on Facebook posted a video of Ms. Dion singing an Adele song and it made me so angry and I wanted to find some footage from the Oprah episode that featured Celine Dion because that woman drives me crazy (Clarification: Celine drives me crazy. Oprah? I can’t relate to her, but I don’t necessarily want to beat her up in my front yard.) and I wanted to be able to show people WHY she drives me crazy, and the more time I spent watching Celine Dion videos the more angry and sickened I became, and finally I found myself hurling frozen chicken breasts at the computer screen because, yes! Here are some highlights from that Oprah show. (If you can’t watch it without feeling rage, we should get together and do the tapas thing sometime because I think we could share tidings of great joy as well as a plate of fig marmalade on fancy bread.)

Yesterday I went “running” for the fourth time since May 31. (I’m trying to stick at least 48 hours between “runs” so that my left leg doesn’t crack.) Anyway, I’m finding that when I get to the track, more often than not, someone is already there. I then take off walking in the same direction as that person so that I never find myself face-to-face with them. Have I ever mentioned my weird social anxiety? I have? Well, take that anxiety and multiply it by 34 when I’m “running” toward someone and feeling the need to make eye contact. Okay. Yesterday I got to the track and quickly learned that it was going to be a counter-clockwise day. Fine by me. When I was about halfway through my program, an older woman showed up at the track and started walking clockwise! Argh! Are you kidding me? I “ran” past her and gave her a half-smile. I “ran” past her again and noticed that she was looking at me, so I gave her the same half-smile. (Please know that I just spent about 20 minutes trying to take a photo of myself giving a half-smile. Failure.) After about four awkward and hating it half-smiles, I ripped my ear buds out (it was my final cool down lap which means Then She Appeared was playing), gave the woman a full-on crazy smile, and yelled/sputtered, “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” (I lack creative openers when my heart and knees are on the verge of blowing up.) Anyway, as soon as I passed her, she CHANGED DIRECTIONS so that we didn’t have to face each other again. Half of me celebrated a tiny OCD victory, because finally! Everyone was moving in the same direction! The other half felt a little MORE self-conscious (is it even possible?!) because I really do feel like my awkward and loud “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” freaked the lady out.

As soon as I got to my car, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my nose ring was bleeding, and I had a dime-sized spot of dried blood on the side of my face.

The woman changed directions because I was an unpredictable semi-fast-moving hypertensive psycho and she couldn’t help me or fight me if things moved closer to the edge! (My philosophy: If you cannot (or are unwilling to try to) help someone, you should be willing/able to fight them. I’m looking at you, Celine Dion. You too, Naomi Judd.)

A big part of me loves that I scared that woman. Another big part of me wants to bake something and keep it in my car in case I ever run into her again. I feel like I owe her an Apology Pecan Pie. It won’t freak her out at all if she sees me “running” toward her with a steaming hot pie plate, right?

Let’s meet up here more often, shall we? I miss you. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

So Far, So Good

I am pleased to report that we have reached the first weekend of our summer break.

Meredith has read over 500 pages this week, and has decided to devote her summer to reading the Mark Twain 2012-2013 Final Nominees.

Harper has been focusing her energy on the Newsboys Strike of 1899. We’ve heard a rumor that William Randolph Hearst is a distant relative, and Harper is all fired up. (Like me, she now has the entire Newsies soundtrack memorized. This makes our car rides 94% more entertaining.)

Last week I won a bottle of barbecue sauce from the produce co-op. This morning I won some tea from Teavana. I made some vegan cookies, I’ve been to Gokul twice in the past week, and my basil is ready to be cut and placed upon a plate with mozzarella and tomatoes. (I measure my successes culinarily.)

I’m currently reading Ten Thousand Saints.

A pair of green tights arrived in the mail this afternoon.

My Acer Cardigan has reached the halfway point.

I do believe I have another stress fracture in my leg. (I’ve been walking in the mornings.) BUT, let’s not talk about that. (I’m registered for a 5K in August. Sink or swim.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

She’s Come Undone

Today is the last day of school. I’ve always preferred the first day of school to the last day. Something about the smell of pencils and the feeling of potential jazzes me much more than the smell of sweat and the possibility of chaos.

This morning, instead of going through the circle drive to drop off the girls, I parked my car and walked them in. (I had a hat to deliver to one of the teachers. A baby hat. A baby newsie hat. A gray baby newsie hat. Details. (Does anyone ever say “the devil is in the details”, or has it gone the way of 23 Skidoo? Let’s bring back 23 Skidoo!))

Anyway, I delivered the hat and then I walked down to Meredith’s classroom, and the entire time I was walking I was also stopping to talk to teachers and I’ve never really socialized in the halls before, so I was feeling all Welcome Back Kotter with a hint of Mary Tyler Moore and I was wearing a dress that’s slightly too tight on top (foreshadowing!) and I talked to Meredith’s teacher for a bit and then I walked down the hall again and spoke to a few reading teachers as well as the ELL teacher and then I stopped off in the office and spoke to the school secretary and she complimented the dress so I did what I do and went into the whole story of how I GOT the dress (I’m exhausting.) and then I signed out and exited the building and walked to my car.

And as I was walking, I felt a breeze.

A bosom breeze.

And I looked down and saw that my dress was unbuttoned down to my waist.

In other words, the first time I toyed with social butterflyism, I did so while J-Lo-ing to the professionals who are educating my children.

It’s good that today is the last day.

I now have three months to recover. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>